Aang (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
actually112) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2014-09-23 10:30 am
actually112) wrote in thearena2014-09-23 10:30 am
Entry tags:
A constellation of tears on your lashes
Who| Aang and Tony and anyone who may be with Tony (Thor, Bucky, etc)
What| Aang is officially outside of what's intended to be the arena. He is going to do his damndest to tear this shit down.
Where| The crawlspace above the third floor.
When| Early Week
Warnings/Notes| Sad little boys and Tony instructing said boys how to use explosives.
Aang has cried a lot. Cried with grief, cried with frustration, cried with loneliness. He feels like he's cried a hundred years' worth of tears.
Making up for lost time, he guesses.
But tears do nothing. After the tearing feeling in his chest has reduced to a dull ache, he gets to work. He already broke through the skylight, so he investigates. Paws around, just in case there are fancy wires or the kind of green ridged chips found in the floor cleaners. He finds nothing but dust, and he feels the electricity above him, crackling the air like Azula does before a strike. He knows that feeling. He died to that feeling, before Katara pulled him back. He misses Katara.
He doesn't know how to deal with electricity, but he knows there are others who do. He zips open his backpack, pulling out pages he had yet to use for drawing or paper gliders, and writes. He writes his note in the best code he can possibly manage, asking for help and explaining the situation.
Then he folds them into the best gliders he can and throws them through the skylight.
Maybe someone will find them.
What| Aang is officially outside of what's intended to be the arena. He is going to do his damndest to tear this shit down.
Where| The crawlspace above the third floor.
When| Early Week
Warnings/Notes| Sad little boys and Tony instructing said boys how to use explosives.
Aang has cried a lot. Cried with grief, cried with frustration, cried with loneliness. He feels like he's cried a hundred years' worth of tears.
Making up for lost time, he guesses.
But tears do nothing. After the tearing feeling in his chest has reduced to a dull ache, he gets to work. He already broke through the skylight, so he investigates. Paws around, just in case there are fancy wires or the kind of green ridged chips found in the floor cleaners. He finds nothing but dust, and he feels the electricity above him, crackling the air like Azula does before a strike. He knows that feeling. He died to that feeling, before Katara pulled him back. He misses Katara.
He doesn't know how to deal with electricity, but he knows there are others who do. He zips open his backpack, pulling out pages he had yet to use for drawing or paper gliders, and writes. He writes his note in the best code he can possibly manage, asking for help and explaining the situation.
Then he folds them into the best gliders he can and throws them through the skylight.
Maybe someone will find them.